Of Hair Dye and Trouble
by Kandragon
Summary: Legolas and the twins team up to play a prank which will go down in infamy...at least, according to Glorfindel. (One-shot; early Third Age)
"This is a _terrible_ idea, Elrohir," Elladan said, though he followed his twin down the hall, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. Although an ounce of anger and a few more ounces of guilt resided within his stomach, he was glad his brother had called him away from the Hall of Fire. He just did not know _why_ Elrohir had done so as of yet, however. "Even you _know_ it's a terrible idea."

Elrohir, who was walking backwards with both hands behind his head, shot Elladan a mischievous grin. "Then why follow me?"

Elladan paused in thought. Then winced. Elrohir had a point, if he followed, he'd be pulled into Elrohir's crazy scheme…but if he did not come, he would be indicted _anyways_. Erestor always assumed, for some reason, that whatever trouble Elrohir had caused was always part of a collaborated effort.

Probably because most of the time, it was true. _It would not be so if you weren't so easily dragged into it, Elladan._

"If I come along," he said, glancing at his twin, "at least I'll know what Erestor is punishing us for."

"Admit it, 'Ladan," Elrohir placed an arm around his shoulder, "you would much rather be here, with me, than down there, speaking with our most 'honored' guests from Greenwood the Great."

"They did not seem like terrible company," he answered, shrugging. Father had told them to welcome any guests while he and mother were away visiting their grandparents in Lothlorien, although Elrond probably had not expected a host from Greenwood while he was away.

"You mean you _like_ all that talk about trees...trees…and…more _trees_?" asked Elrohir, lifting one of his eyebrows much in the same way Elrond did. Except when their father did that, of course, it was usually followed by a stern rebuke or dry laughter; the expression on Elrohir's face did not hint at millennia of wisdom, instead, it was more of a mockery of all that time. "King Thranduil thinks they're now 'cultured', ever since he has taken the throne, but I doubt those Silvan know the first thing about culture. Or healing, arithmetic, astrology, history, or philosophy."

"Have you even bothered speaking with them?"

"Not since the mandatory greeting," Elrohir answered, waving a hand and nearly knocking over a potted plant, he did manage to make said pot and plant wobble a little and spilled some dirt on the floor, however, "Thranduil looked like a horse had smashed his foot and he was about to send the beast that had broken it to the butcher when he heard that Ada was in Lothlorien."

"Wouldn't you have been too?"

"He didn't send a messenger!" answered his brother, "fine, he might be a ' _king_ ', but he is not _our_ king, he knows that Ada is not at his beck and call like one of his own people, right?"

Elladan sighed. "Of course."

"If he had wanted Ada to meet him, he would have sent a messenger well in advance," Elrohir crossed his arms, "a real Sinda king would know to do so, 'Ladan, he is little better than the Silvan he governs, and—what is it?"

Elladan swallowed, pointing at the tall, blond haired Elf behind Elrohir. Said Elf had just stepped into the hall from an intersecting passageway, but Elladan had an eerie feeling deep in his gut that the newcomer had, in fact, overheard most of their conversation.

Especially because of the glower set upon his face.

"I did not know," said the Elf, "that the first homely house had lost its welcoming spirit, or that the sons of Elrond were taught to mock both guests and kin."

Elrohir spun, turning his back on Elladan. "Kin?"

"As I recall, King Thranduil is the distant cousin of Lord Celeborn, your grandfather." He smiled, head tilted up slightly. "That would make you kin."

"I…" Elrohir began, he looked back at Elladan, then mouthed: "did Nana or Erestor mention that?"

Elladan nodded. Elrohir had, however, been sketching in his journal or staring outside when Erestor had been teaching that lesson, like usual. Making Elrohir stay focus on history lessons on anything other than battles or tales of great heroes was like trying to make a tincture with no alcohol. As father would say, neither would work. One could not maximize extraction without the key ingredient.

"Not particularly close kin," Elrohir said.

"No," answered the Elf, "yet for one who is so very well educated when compared to my folk, you seem daft. Or are you deaf? Perhaps that's it."

"Uncouth," his brother said.

The Elf nodded. "Haughty."

"That too."

"Those are traits many Silvan are said to have, we think ourselves better than others of our kind," he said, winking.

"Although that last bit could be said of most Noldor, Sindar, or Peredhil as well," said Elladan. At his words, the Elf laughed. "I don't recall, however, seeing you when the king arrived, or if I do, I…you were in the back of the company?"

"Yes."

"But…you _are_ a Sinda."

At this, the Elf frowned. "My parents are Sindar, but I am _of_ the Silvan."

"Why would—"

Elladin punched his twin hard enough that he was certain it would leave a bruise. His brother rubbed his arm, and glared at him over his shoulder, but it did serve to silence his tongue.

"I recognize you," he said, "or I think I do."

The Elf cocked an eyebrow.

"You're the son of Thranduil," he said, though the resemblance was not as readily apparent as he had heard. The golden hair and high cheekbones were sure signs that this was indeed, Thranduil's son. His other features—softer face, grey eyes, and slight curls—however, must've been inherited from his mother. So had the prince's slimmer frame. The Queen of Greenwood hadn't come, because someone, as Elladan had heard Men say, 'had to hold down the fort.'

"Ah," he said, shooting them a grin, "you _do_ remember. I am Legolas."

Both Elrohir and Elladan tilted their heads in sync with each other. "Remember what?" they asked.

"Or not," he began, then shrugged, "I guess it's not so surprising."

"What isn't?" asked his twin, gazing at the Elf.

"We meant a little less than twenty-five years ago, you were barely walking then," as he spoke, Legolas sent them each a smirk, "and I seem to remember Elrohir getting into a barrow of purple dye."

"That _does_ sound like you," said Elladin, wrinkling his nose.

"What do you mean?" His brother mimicked an innocent pup—one that knew it had done something wrong, but swore you were wrong despite that it knew you were right. "Well?"

"Lord Elrond didn't appreciate it, as I recall," said Legolas, "you dyed your hair, face, and clothes purple…for a month!"

"A whole month!?" Elrohir grinned so widely that it split his face in half. "That's marvelous."

"It's terrible," Elladan refuted.

"Can you imagine if we got hold of some that, 'Ladan, just think of the kind of chaos we could cause?" His eyes weren't twinkling because of the diffused starlight in the dimly lit hall. That gleam made Elladan nervous. This wouldn't end well. "We could make the halls _purple_."

"Ada would kill us."

"No, Nana would kill us," Elrohir corrected.

"We brought some dye with us," said the prince.

Despite himself, Elladan also began to grin. He was supposed to be the responsible one, after all, he was the elder twin...but sometimes, even though he didn't like to admit it, he liked a good prank just as much as Elrohir.

"It might not be… _wise_ to dye all of Imladris," Legolas said, "but I heard a rumor that my father and Lord Glorfindel might have had too much wine…"

"I like the sound of this." Elrohir hummed, merrily.

"You…we…what?"

"Yes."

"Both the king and Glorfindel?" asked Elladan once he had regained his composure.

"Not my Adar," Legolas said, clasping his hands behind his back, he began to head down the passageway he had stepped out of earlier. Tailing him like a pair of happy hounds, the twins followed: Elrohir skipping; Elladan more sluggish, less willing. "But Glorfindel, some of our guards, a few others of your house…"

Elrohir rubbed his hands together in utter glee.

" _This_ shall go down in the history as the best prank ever."

Those words filled Elladan's stomach with a little more ice-cold dread…but…well, it was already too late. Both the Prince of Greenwood the Great and his brother chattered about the best ways to get the dye, how to distribute it without Erestor noticing, and how to get into Glorfindel's room. When Elrohir brought up this last topic, the prince took a light, brown hairpin out of his hair and wiggled it in the light of the dimly lit hall.

"I've always wanted to learn how to pick locks," Elrohir said, then nudged Elladan in the arm, "haven't you, brother?"

"Not exactly," he answered with a weary groan.

His brother chose not to notice. "This is excellent."

The prince took a torch from the wall, then led them down a few flights of darkened stairs and through a few hallways which their father often said were off limits for elflings except if they had an adult with them. Doubtlessly, their father was thinking of a _responsible_ adult though, not one like Legolas whom Elladan was beginning to quickly believe was even _more_ of a troublemaker than his brother. Eventually, they went outside, the sound of the waterfalls greeted their ears, and a few late night songs from the Hall of Fire tangled with that distant, thunderous noise. As they walked along, both a sliver of moon and the bright stars lit their way, Legolas leading them on cobblestone paths through the night.

 _He has to be at least one-hundred-forty_ , he thought, _sure, that isn't as old as father…or…_ definitely not _Glorfindel, but he's more of an elfling than me!_

They stood outside of a cold storage room, Legolas slung open the door, then grinned at the twins.

"We'll want to fill a few smaller containers with the dye. Make sure you are wearing gloves," he said, motioning to a small crate labeled 'gloves' in Sindarin, it rested on a high shelve that was still out of their reach. Legolas took a pair out, then handed another to Elrohir. "It wouldn't do for us to get our fingers dyed purple."

"They'll know it was us," Elladan said. Legolas also handed him some gloves. "They always do."

"You worry too much, 'Ladan."

"A month with purple hands wouldn't be fun, Elrohir," Legolas said, walking over to a large barrow. The twins grabbed a few buckets off the wall. Legolas nodded in approval, then opened the barrow, taking one of their three buckets. "First, we will go to the barracks."

"That sounds fun," said Elrohir with a cheerful grin.

"And Elrohir will dye their hair," he said, this made Elladan frown, "you and me, Elladan, will take to dying Glorfindel and…the others."

"What?" He gasped. "But Elrohir's the irresponsible one!"

"Hey!"

"You are, though!"

"That's why I assigned him the easier task," remarked the prince.

"Huh?" asked Elrohir.

"Ha."

"Let's go," he said, handing them both a bucketful of bright, purple dye. "There's a lot of elves to get to, and not that much time before sunrise!"

They left the storage room at as fast as they could, Elladan barely remembering to close the door behind them. Elrohir trotted off towards the barracks, purple dye splattering out of his bucket and onto the grey cobblestone path as he ran.

He hadn't realize he had stopped until Legolas coughed, drawing attention to himself.

"You seem uncomfortable with this plan," he said, looking down at the younger Elf. "If you aren't interested…"

"Did…did you ask me to accompany you merely because you…?"

The Elf nodded. "Your brother would not have to know…"

"Well," Elladan said, though later, he knew, he would wish he had bit his tongue, "I am no coward, Legolas Greenleaf."

"Indeed," said the Elf, "certainly, let us prove how brave we are by muting our conscience."

That…wasn't the response he expected.

"This particular kind of dye doesn't last a month," he said, "or dye clothes permanently."

"Then why…?"

"My Adar would not send that variety to Imladris again after Elrohir climbed into it," he answered, "this type isn't permanent, Nell said it will only dye hair for five to seven days before washing out."

"Why did you lie?"

"I didn't!" he said, walking back to the main buildings that made up Imladris, Elladan following, "All I recall telling you two was that we brought 'some dye', not what _type_ of dye."

"But…" he started, lifting a hand to his chin. Then Elladan realized what he needed to ask, "Do you know what he was planning to do _before_ you brought that up?"

Legolas gave him a one arm shrug. "I overheard he wanted to see what would happen if he tricked some elves into eating a certain kind of wild mushrooms—"

"Those…those are _bad_!" said Elladan. He knew exactly _which_ mushrooms Elrohir was thinking of. They'd found them a few weeks ago, Elrohir had eaten a few and started to think he was a wild horse being chased by orcs. Luckily, he'd been able to excuse it as play when Erestor saw Elrohir running over the grassy hills, though their father's advisor had been suspicious. "Like…"

"I figured this was a safer alternative," Legolas said, softly.

Elladan nodded, and…agreed to go along. After all, it would be _tragic_ to let the prince of Greenwood the Great and his brother have all fun. If it had been several weeks, he would not have agreed to it, but because it was only a few days…it didn't prick at his conscience as much.

Creeping through the halls of Imladris in the night, both Elf and elfling went to work, like phantoms in the dark. Quickly and quietly, they dyed long locks of elvish hair with the brightest purple Elladan had ever seen. Sleeping Elves and drunken Elves alike, by the end of the night, they had dyed the hair of half the Elves of Imladris.

At long last, they came to Glorfindel's quarters.

Legolas used his hairpin to unlock the door, opening it silently and stepping inside the darkened room. A small fire still blazed in Glorfindel's fireplace, barely more than orange embers, but it gave the large yet sparsely furnished room an eerie glow. On his bed Glorfindel slept, golden hair frizzed and in disarray, covers thrown upon the floor. Only a blue blanket covered his butt and tangled between his lower legs.

"I'll take this one." Legolas pushed a very shocked Elladan out of the room.

Elrohir stood outside, empty bucket in his arm.

"You look like you saw a ghoul."

Elladan stood there stunned, still.

"'Ladan?"

"I…," he blinked.

"I almost got caught," said Elrohir, "twice!"

"I…"

"What?"

"Glorfindel…" he looked from one side then to the other; he added in a low voice, "wasn't wearing a shirt."

Elrohir giggled, of course; his brother had no sense of propriety or decorum. Elladan smacked his twin on the back of his head. Elrohir moaned, rubbing his head and thus, rubbing purple dye into his hair. He hadn't been nearly as careful as they had, it seemed.

"Or pants."

Elrohir's giggle fit to turned to hooting _laughter_.

"By Elbereth…" His twin snorted.

"Only a blanket."

"It couldn't be _that_ bad."

"His back's covered in scars, Elrohir." They were thick and white, like old burnt tissue. "I thought Lórien—"

"What in the name of _Eru_ are you _—_ "

The door slammed open. They only got a brief glance of the hulking, purple-haired terror with a towel wrapped around his waist before Legolas pushed past, fleeing the room.

"Run!"

Chased by a string of Quenya words their father did not _want_ them to know yet, they did as Legolas ordered, sprinting for their lives towards the nearby forest. They reached the woods in record time, climbing up into an old oak tree near a small, starlit pool.

"Wake not the Balrog-Slayer from his slumber," said Elladan. He placed a hand on the tree's thin trunk, catching his breath, "or ye will face certain doom!"

Legolas gave him a weary look, then laughed. The twins exchanged a glance. A moment later, they joined in his laughter, tears spilling down their checks, hands on their stomachs. All three Elves sat on the tree's strong branches, legs dangling far above the forest floor.

"For an old Elf," Elrohir said, once their laughter had calmed down. "And a Wood Elf, you did splendidly, I think."

"Old?" Legolas looked utterly offended…or mockingly offended, Elladan wasn't sure. Then the prince stuck out his tongue.

"All adult Elves are old in my brother's eyes," Elladan supplied, nudging Elrohir with his elbow. "Less he forget that we have less than two decades before we reach our majority."

Legolas, who sat on a branch a bit higher, and therefore, a little thinner than their own, looked down at the two elflings. "So, have I passed the test?"

"I suppose…," answered Elrohir. "Wasn't bad…for a Silvan."

Legolas rolled his eyes.

"Fine," said Elrohir, throwing up his arms and nearly falling out of the tree. He caught himself with his legs, however, and now hung upside down. "It was an excellent execution…"

"But not that last part," Elladan chimed in.

"I thought…" Legolas ran a hand through his hair, then turned his head back towards Imladris though there were too many trees to see their home properly. "He looked…dead to the world."

"Elegant way to put it," Elladan replied.

"Quite!" Elrohir shouted, after he had finally managed to sit up again on the branch.

"We're all dead," said Legolas, his shoulders drooping. He looked up to the heavens as though he were conversing with the Valar. "Aren't we?"

At those words, the sons of Elrond shot him twin grins.

"How long," Elladan began, "was your father planning to stay, exactly?"

000

Thranduil had not, personally, planned to stay in Imladris this long. Honestly, he had only come to speak with Elrond briefly, about some particular issues of diplomacy, trade, and…an odd letter from the Half-Elf himself, one requesting the presence of his only son. To train the Half-Elven twins in archery, of all things. Elrond had heard Legolas was gifted, but Thranduil thought it unwise. _Gifted yes,_ he mused, _ready to train elflings? No._

After this week's prank, Thranduil was sure he would no longer have to try hard to convince him.

For almost a week, there had been no sign of Elladan, Elrohir, or Legolas Greenleaf. For that same amount of time, all the once silver and blond haired Elves had had bright, purple locks. Even a few of the darker haired ones had a purple glaze.

None, however, was as bad as a certain very grumpy Vanya.

While most of the other Elves' hair had now gone back to normal, _something_ had been done to dye used on Glorfindel to make it more permanent. Perhaps Legolas had taken something from Nell to aid in that task, or perhaps he had actually learned something from their enchanters.

Thranduil was not sure, but, admittedly, a part of him felt impressed.

He just wouldn't say that to a certain ancient Elf's face.

 _At least if I still want my face_. Glorfindel was outright terrifying when he was _actually_ mad. Thranduil was sure that it was the Vanya's anger itself that had brought down that Balrog in Gondolin, ages ago, and not his sword as the tales often said.

"It's been six days," said that very Elf, Glorfindel and Erestor rounded a corner. They entered the antechamber where Thranduil stood, nursing a cup of wine. The dark haired adviser tailed his tall, purple-haired companion, barely keeping up with the Captain of Imladris.

"Still stomping around Imladris, Glorfindel?" Thranduil mused, looking up at the tall, once-golden haired Elf.

The captain whirled, he glared at Thranduil. Even with all the fiery of the Balrog-Slayer upon him, Thranduil did not wince once. Pride surged within him at that fact.

"I do not _stomp_ ," he sniffed, usually, Glorfindel's temper wasn't so…flared, but purple hair did strange things to very ancient Elf Lords, especially one known for the beauty of said hair, it seemed. Without that, Glorfindel's…broad shoulders, and thick, muscular frame almost made him seem...monstrous.

"Thranduil…"

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at the Vanya.

"Why is your hair untouched?"

"Because my son knows better than to provoke my wraith," he answered, donning a thin smile, "but as I recall, most of that dye has washed out of the _other_ Elves' hair already…"

Glorfindel almost said something, but Erestor touched his arm, catching the captain's attention. The advisor shook his head.

"He is worried, Thranduil," said Erestor.

"My son is more than capable of taking care of himself and a pair of elflings in the woods," he said, watching in faint amusement as a blood vessel in Glorfindel's forehead twitched. He hadn't seen the Lord of the House of the Golden Flower this mad—and worried, no doubt—in centuries. Erestor was often right about such things.

"Your _son_ was who brought this upon me." Glorfindel took one purple strand of hair in his hand and tugged…hard. "It's—"

 _That's strange._

"Lord Elrond." Glorfindel inclined his head. Erestor did likewise. "You're back early…"

"Well met," said the Half-Elf. Thranduil turned, looking at Elrond…and his company.

And laughed.

He probably should not have done so. It wasn't something a dignified Elven King did, but…

Holding Elrond's arm, of course, was Thranduil's distant cousin, Celebrian, silver hair hanging down her back in waves, much like her mother's long locks. Beside her, however, stood the Elf Lord's twin sons, the purplish hair belonging to Elrohir, while the shame-faced elfling must have been Elladan. Behind them, stood Legolas, arms crossed and wearing a small, proud smile on his face.

Glorfindel gave Legolas a frozen glare.

The young Elf blanched.

Thranduil switched his wine, thoughtfully.

"It seems, captain," Elrond said, addressing Glorfindel. The Elf straightened his back…more, somehow. "That your…hair has taken on a more vivid hue of late."

The twins started to snigger.

"It has," said Glorfindel.

And being _Lord_ Elrond, and impressing Thranduil all the more by doing so, his lips did not even quiver. He nodded at Thranduil, "King Thranduil."

Thranduil lifted a hand. "Please, there is no need of titles between us." _It sounds…wrong for you to address me like you would have Gil-Galad,_ he did not say that, however. They were friends, not lord and vessel, after all.

"Forgive my tardiness," he said, "I had not expected you to arrive so soon."

"The snow melted early this year," he answered, they had left Greenwood with _much_ more than enough time at his wife's urging. Minuial was always anxious whenever he traveled through the mountain pass between Imladris and Greenwood. Internally, he smiled at that, but kept his face clear of any signs of amusement…mostly. _Don't look at Glorfindel_. "We sent a messenger pigeon."

"Ah."

"Which did not reach us, Lord Elrond," replied Erestor. "Thranduil."

"Considering recent events, however, I suppose you wish to revoke your request, correct?" asked Thranduil, hopefully. The truth was, he did not want Legolas to be gone for so long, his only child was precious to him. After their first…it was unlikely Minuial would live through the birth of a second. He needed to keep him safe.

"No."

"Request?" Elrohir asked. His mother gave him a look that Thranduil had seen on Minuial's face thousands of times.

Elrond gently rubbed his younger son's head. "Yes, I have asked King Thranduil—" Thranduil sighed, Elrond was _insisting_ on titles now... "—to bequest us his son to tutor you in archery _and_ wilderness survival skills."

"What." Both Legolas and Glorfindel said in unison. Legolas raised an eyebrow at his father, though he spotted something akin to excitement in the young Elf's eyes.

He probably should have informed his son about the true nature of their visit sooner.

"Lord Elrond…haven't you _seen_ what that elfling has done?" Glorfindel said, finally spurred into action, "not only did he dye my hair this…obnoxious shade of…trash, he and your _sons_ dyed the hair of half the Elves of Imladris purple, too."

Even Erestor smiled. Elrond covered his mouth in amusement, no doubt chuckling behind his hand.

"And he owes us payment for his misdeeds," said Elrond, clearly manipulating the whole situation in his favor. Somethings never changed. "Do you not agree he should be punished, Thranduil?"

He glared. _Now he…_

Then Thranduil sighed. There were other days to be stubborn, with little danger in Middle Earth, Thranduil…decided to relent. Imladris was safe, though he imagined Legolas would _not_ get along well with a certain Vanya any time soon…

"Indeed, Elrond."

" _He's_ staying?" Glorfindel said in clear disbelief. "You…all of you…you've gone mad."

Glorfindel huffed, spun around, and stomped away, his bright, purple hair flipping in the wind behind him. Once he had left, laughter resounded in the antechamber, and far below, Glorfindel grimaced, hearing the tingle of laughter from the open halls above.

He would have his revenge, he decided, but first, he would get his haircut.

000

A/N: Not much here; the twins are a little less than thirty in this story, or the equivalent of early teenagers. Legolas is about 145, so, the twins are wrong. Yes, those are the same Nell and Minuial in my other fanfic; Nell may or may not be the secret mastermind behind this prank…


End file.
